Father was up and ready early in the morning, having shaved
and bathed. He was waiting for the social and political local leaders he had
called to discuss various burning issues of the region. Several issues agitated
his mind. Why is it that the proposed coach building factory had not been
sanctioned for Akola? Why no effective demand was being raised for shifting the
headquarters of the Cotton Corporation of India to Akola known as a rich cotton
growing, processing, trading town with several textiles mills located there. He
was visibly unhappy that the local leaders were not taking up these issues in
right earnest.
While pacing up and down, he lit a cigarette when he
suffered a massive stroke. He slumped on his bed, never to recover. Doctors
were summoned. But to no avail. He was dead. Our black prairie dog lay under is
bed, refusing to eat or drink for three days. It was ‘Shani Amavasya’,
Saturday, 16th April 1988.
His heart always beat for the people of his soil. He lived
and died as a ‘Bhoomiputra’. He was only two when his freedom fighter mother
was sentenced to jail. He too became a prisoner to be with his mother. His
mother’s brother was a revolutionary and even hid arms at home. Having had such a surrounding, it
was natural for father to follow in the footsteps of his mother and uncle. He
was jailed twice and after the Independence was elected the first and youngest President of the Freedom Fighters Association in Akola.
An avid reader, he was an enchanting orator who moved the
audience. Chief ministers and even the Prime Minister showered him with praises
for his oratory and sought him out as the star campaigner during elections.
Even his political opponents acknowledged his oratorical prowess. Just five
feet in height, he rose to immense heights in social and political stature in
Maharashtra.
I was in Mumbai with my family when I got to know the news
of his death. I was so dazed that I could remember only vaguely how we reached
Akola. His people had already taken over his body and the last rites. I simply
did what people told me to do. I told mother to take care of herself and expect
everything to be as it was when he had left the ministry and given up his
ticket in 1972 to honor the wishes of Mrs Indira Gandhi who wanted all those
who had enjoyed an office in the government to make way for newer blood and
devote their time and energy on party organization. It was then that he
suffered massive myocardial infarction. Having
no office and position, all his fair-weather friends and relations left him.
I told Aai (Mother), “phones will stop ringing, so will the
doorbell, letters will dwindle. He left Ministry in ’72 and now he died as a
sitting MP. Never be afraid of the future. We would never be compelled to go
back to a chawl where my sister Kiran and I were born. We will make a better
life, so what if father has left us with no money.
In the last 25 years we have become richer in terms of
friends and well-wishers earned.
I pray in the memory of a everlasting memory of Madhusudan A Vairale my departed ,beloved,Father....that the dreams he saw for his people will come true....someday...
I pray in the memory of a everlasting memory of Madhusudan A Vairale my departed ,beloved,Father....that the dreams he saw for his people will come true....someday...
